Page 26 of Until the End of Ever
She grinned. “I guess we’ll find out.”
10
KLEOS
The room was different.
The first thing I noticed, after a long soak in the fancy en suite’s tub, was the wardrobe. For one, it was full. Instead of a collection of clothes in various sizes and loose shapes, meant to fit as many people as possible, each piece was roughly the same size. Mine.
My fingers brushed the soft, expensive fabrics, feeling a faint hum of magic which suggested every single one of these outfits was a Witch Styles creation. This wardrobe was worth more than my account in Gold Bank.
Confused, I pulled out two hangers, holding identical dresses, both freshly pressed. Silver’s dress. Or more accurately, one—the shorter of the two—was the one I’d borrowed from my friend on Saturday, dry cleaned. I flushed, wondering where I’d left it. Bundled in a corner of Lucian’s bedroom, no doubt. Silver would strangle me if she knew.
The second was slightly longer, with more breathing room around the hips, but otherwise identical to my friend’s chain dress. The one visible deviation was that instead of holding a red stone, the golden jewel at its center housed a massive diamondfilled with spells I could recognize. The same ones cast on Princess Gertrude’s necklace, on my dressing gown.
Part of me demanded I cross the corridor between our rooms and ask Lucian why he’d done this. All other considerations aside, he could get sued for that piece of contraband! Unless he’d located and purchased a vintage Chanel in the span of a day. I wouldn’t put it past him.
I shook my head, putting both dresses back in before hunting down loungewear consisting of loose pants that did wonders for my butt, and a tank top. Unsurprisingly, they were bloody silk.
As I slid underneath the fluffy covers, Zazel stretching at the foot of the bed, it dawned on me that this hastily put together wardrobe felt more like me than mine.
I didn’t waste much of my money on fancy clothes. I purchased practical compact and tactical shirts, some casual outfits—jeans and the like—but my salary wouldn’t have been enough for the sorts of dresses I needed to wear at galas and festivals. If I asked, there was a chance my father would give me the money to go on a shopping spree, but there were equal odds that he’d remind me the fashion budget was handled by my mother.Shebought my dresses. My own preferences had never mattered; she chose clothes to communicate a certain imagine, for both of us.
I had enough actual conflicts with her to not rock the boat on something as stupid as clothing.
But now I had a vintage Chanel chain dress with a fist-sized diamond in my wardrobe. Yes, technically, it was Lucian’s wardrobe, Lucian’s manor, and Lucian’s dress, but he’d clearly intended it for me. I doubted he could fit into it. I smiled, imagining my mother’s face if I showed up at the next festival in that gorgeous, sexy dress. She would strangle me.
I crashed early—unsurprising after the events of the day—which meant I was awake even earlier than usual. The light treesoutside were bright enough for me to notice another change in the room. Instead of plain green paint, there was a gorgeous pattern of flowers, oak leaves, thorns, and ivy.
I showered before tiptoeing to the kitchen, and noticed that the pattern in my room continued on the halls. They’d been bloodred; this morning the color was closer to a purple-ish burgundy, and the silver filigree continued until the kitchen. Part of me was dying to see Theke, and part knew if the manor had decided to make drastic changes in Lucian’s space, he was going to be sincerely grumpy.
I was up at six, my host didn’t like to open his eyes before eleven, so I opted to get started on bribes.
Prep took a few hours, during which I replayed every word Apollo had said—and those he’d refused to say, grasping for meaning in each inflection of the god’s voice. I only started to properly bake and cook things four hours into the process. As expected, Lucian dragged his feet fifteen minutes after the stove was fired up, just as I finished the salted caramel butter.
Lucian also came in shirtless. I should be used to it after a week of cohabitation, but I suspected I could look at those abs for a century straight and still stare the next day.
“What is this sorcery?” he drawled, predictably drawn in by the three dozen little pastries resting on the cooking rack.
“Hush, I only just got them out of the oven. You can make coffee while they cool a bit.”
“But whatarethey?” he insisted, silver eyes fixed.
I could flash my tits, and he would probably pay zero attention. I rolled my eyes. “Canelés. I learned to make them in Bordeaux. Now, coffee, please. I don’t know how your machine works. The sooner you hand me some caffeine, the sooner I give you pastries.”
He was a man on a mission after that. I could see when he peeked at the cooling rack at regular intervals, apparently tomake sure they didn’t disappear. Not even getting cupcakes and then cookies out of the oven distracted him for a moment.
By the time Lucian finished my latte and his cappuccino, another set of footsteps alerted us of a presence.
“Is that caramel I smell?” Cassius asked. “And rum.”
Lucian practically hissed. “Of course you’d show up this morning when I’ve never seen you awake before midday.”
“At least he bothered with a shirt before following his nose to the kitchen,” I needled.
Though that was inaccurate. The patriarch wore a black velvet bathrobe. I understood where Lucian got his distaste of mornings for.
The younger Regis slapped together a quick cup of Earl Grey for the newcomer as I plated up. For myself, I chose three canelés and one cupcake—I planned to have a cookie in the afternoon—but I knew the men in this house well enough to immediately offer them twice as much.
